I'm no Aaron, or Janie, or even LatinD--but I was at the game on Tuesday. (Yes, I know. So were they.) But as you might recall, last year I went to a playoff game and wrote a post about it. I thought, hey, why not do it again for thos...
I'm no Aaron, or Janie, or even LatinD--but I was at the game on Tuesday. (Yes, I know. So were they.) But as you might recall, last year I went to a playoff game and wrote a post about it. I thought, hey, why not do it again for those of you who got to throw up during the fourth quarter in the privacy of your own home? Looking back, I see I mentioned Aaron and David in the same context then, too. It's nice to know that I'm consistent (and repetitive).
Used to be that I could refer to continuing after the jump at this point; you'll just have to pretend now.
When I arrived at the AT&T Center, I saw that the columns outside were decorated with large banners featuring our own lovable scrubs.
Of couse, really there are no scrubs. Only Spurs.
That was after I got through security, where I had the new experience of having to show the man the inside of my hat. I'm not exactly sure what I could have had in there. I don't even own a knife that small.
I was gonna use it as a bridal veil, but then my dress ended up being ivory.
There was quite the festive atmosphere inside the arena. A mariachi band, with LOS SPURS embroidered on their white shawls, was very well received.
And near the crowd around the mariachi band, there was another crowd--peeking up through an opening, through which you can see...
He's behind that black thing there. I promise. I couldn't hear anything the ESPN team was saying, but frankly I think that might be for the best in any case.
Near the fan shop there was a DJ--although inexplicably, no one was dancing. But it is what's inside the fan shop that might hold special interest for the PtR nerd collective.
It's the 8-Bit Spurs! Cue the NES style soundtrack!
Eventually, I made my way up to the upper bowl. I was sitting on the other side from where I sat last year, but at about the same height (the top). Once I got up there, I discovered that I was sitting very close to my husband, who was in the media section. I could have easily spit on his head, but he was sitting next to Aaron and Fred, and I didn't want to hit them on accident. I collected my free towel from the back of my seat.
For Game 2, the roles of players and coaches will be played by ants.
For the first half, I was feeling pretty great. The officiating seemed even, and we were pretty much kicking ass. At intermission, I jogged down the stairs and met David. We generally agreed it was about the best date ever and not really suffering much from the fact that we weren't actually spending it together. He went back to pass the break with people he isn't married to while I grabbed a hot dog and found a cow.
The cows are a thing in San Antonio. Click here.
The second half started up, and I was still thoroughly enjoying myself. Someone in my section shouted out a joke about the refs, saying he'd seen better eyes on a potato. Then...things got a little awful. Soon, my entire section--I think it was probably the entire AT&T Center--was not jumping up merely when a Spur hit a shot, but even when a Spur looked like he was about to take a shot. There would be a great, communal intake of breath, and then a loud "awwwwww" when the shot didn't fall. As the fourth quarter wore on, I began to feel more and more nauseous. "Oh my god," I thought. "I shouldn't have eaten that hot dog."
Of course it wasn't the food that was making me ill, but the sort of loss of lead that makes one realize how thin the air is at the top of the arena. But let's not dwell. We know what happened--Timmy saved us in OT, I didn't require medical intervention, my spouse dashed off to do media things, and I got to wind my way down the building with several thousand other sweaty people. On my way to the door, I happened to pass the ESPN post-game, where I tried one more time to take a picture of Magic:
...only to discover that he's actually one of those people i